Hindsight
by Maximum55Fan
Summary: Bosco finds out Faith's secret.Story complete
1. Hindsight

_In hindsight, I should have known that the anger and hurt that flared so easily between us was our own way of dealing with passion that we couldn't express_

_In hindsight, I should have known that the emotions that we couldn't deal with, couldn't acknowledge would someday erupt over the edges, dangerous_

_In hindsight, I should have known the first time we would kiss, it would be in anger_

_In hindsight, I should have remembered that to love someone, you need to be willing to hurt them and that you must be able to hate them, for they are mirrors of each other, love and hate, and turn on each other so easily._

_

* * *

_

"You mean your wifey hasn't told you?" I hear Cruz's disbelieving words, and even though I haven't heard the conversation leading up to her outburst, and that I actually am not even in the room at all, I know exactly who she's talking to and what she is talking about.

"Told me what?" Frozen as I am at the door in horror and knowing that the scenario that was about to unfold was my worst nightmare come true, I have to smile. The references to me as his "wife", "girlfriend" or, most often, "mommy" never bother Bosco, and when we were getting along, are really a little joke between the two of us. Cruz always thinks she is insulting both of us when she calls me these names, not realizing that really I've always been a combination of all of the above, and Bosco doesn't mind.

"Oh, I can't believe this – someone pinch me, I must be dreamin'. No wait don't – this is too good. You are seriously telling me she hasn't told you!' Cruz is almost giddy with delight, grinning from ear to ear. A Cruz smile is never a good thing and the look I have of her in the mirror across the locker room does not bode well at all.

"Knock it off, Cruz" Sully's voice rumbles from across the room. "It doesn't concern you"

"Doesn't concern me? Doesn't concern ME? Are you kidding me? Do you forget I went to prison for this? Do you forget the IAB comin' down on me? I'm thinking it does concern me and I am really, really looking forward to getting some small piece of enjoyment out this whole crapfest of events, so don't tell me to knock-it-off, Sullivan!" Cruz is getting agitated, which really isn't going to help. I want Sully to just be quiet and leave, but can't do anything without drawing attention to my presence in the doorway.

"Well, well here she is now"… _Well, that rules out the turning tail and running option…_"Oh, detective…. your lover boy here has a question for you" Cruz sings across the locker room. There isn't any way to avoid this moment, the stuff of which all my nightmares of later were mad of. I step all the way into the room and see Bosco sitting on one of the benches. He doesn't look up as I enter the room, but just the way he sits there leaning against the lockers, hands loosely clasped in his lap; I can tell he's tired, puzzled, and unsure.

"Prison? You went to prison?" Out of the Cruz's little tirade, Bosco has focused in the biggest fear of all cops.

"Oh crap" I hear Sully mutter, off to my side. "Come on Cruz, we're going – come to Haggerty's for a drink with us" I shoot him a little smile – _Thanks Sully, I owe you one. _

Bosco's looking at me by now, his eyes trying to read mine, to see if I am sending him any signals, messages, that will help clarify things for him. Sully and Davis are herding up the stragglers, hurrying them out of the locker room, offering to buy the first round, but only if everyone leaves "right this second". Cruz is struggling with them, but between the two of them, they make up about six of her; she doesn't really have a chance. There are several new faces in the locker room, officers that had never witnessed a full out Boscorelli/Yokas train wreck. Of those present, only Sully, Davis and Cruz had a real inkling of how this is going to go – and two of that three do not want to witness the natural disaster in the making. I take a deep breath, preparing for what lies ahead.

Almost of their own accord, my feet take me over to my locker of thirteen years, kitty corner to where Bosco now stands. He walks over to me slowly, unsure as to what is going on, but he is starting to get an idea that something is very wrong, and it isn't anything he's going to like. If Cruz was looking forward to something, odds were good it wasn't in the best interest of most innocent bystanders.

"What's going on Faith? What's Cruz all worked up about?"

I've played this scene out in my head at least a hundred times, every one different, yet ending the same. I know that I should have told him weeks ago, hell months ago, know that he is going to be pissed that I didn't. But how do you tell someone that you had killed the SOB who had tried to murder them, that you had in turn murdered the SOB in cold blood? It doesn't come up in typical everyday conversation. And the longer it went, the more it felt like I was hiding something, that I had done something wrong, and the more upset I knew he was going to be.

Our fellow officers had apparently decided among themselves that none of them were going to be the ones to tell him, two parts believing it "wasn't their place" to get involved, and one part not wanting to potentially tick Bosco off. Bosco has a reputation of wanting to fix his own problems and apparently no one wanted to tell him that this particular problem had been fixed. Every day that dawned saw part of me hoping, praying that he had found out through the grapevine, the other part terrified he would.

It was irrelevant that no one really knew what had happened anyway – I had shot Mann defending Cruz was the official party line, but everyone "knew" that somehow, for some reason, I was covering up for Cruz, and that she had really done it. How anyone had convinced themselves that I would ever do anything for Cruz was the most inexplicable part of it all. I guess believing that I could have a reason to cover for Cruz was the lesser of the two evils they could believe about me, that the possibility that I could have willfully and purposely shot Mann was just too far-fetched and out of character to merit any real consideration.

"It's about Mann…"

"Yeah, I sort of figured that. She asked how it felt to have to have a woman take care of my problems." _Nice work Cruz. Glad to see you haven't lost your delicate touch. _

"So, what did she arrest him, IAB get fed up with her "interrogation" methods?"

"Wha…?"_Oh no! He thinks Cruz was referring to herself as the woman who took care of him. This is so not good…_

"So where is he? In jail? Please do not tell me he's bail or something, waiting for his trial. I'm really looking forward to seeing that son-of-a-bitch go down. Man, that's all I could think about in the hospital, you know…"

_Shitshitshitshit…it's worse than I thought. He hasn't even found out Mann is dead_. Why could I not have been just 30 seconds slower in getting down here, then Cruz might of at least revealed that Mann was dead. Then some of his anger would be directed at her, for being the messenger, for being involved.

"But what's she thinking you were supposed to have told me Faith?"

In spite of this conversation and its outcome having occupied pretty much my every waking thought for the past months, I just had not come up with a way to say these words, a way to break it to him without breaking him…

"Mann, uh, he… he didn't get bail, no…uh, oh crap, Bos. He's, uh, he's…he was shot resisting arrest…" _No! that's not what I meant to say_ "I mean, uh…"

"How shot is he? Like, dead shot, or like, recovering-in-hospital-shot"

"…dead shot…"

"You're telling me that Mann is freakin' dead?" Bosco launches these words between us and follows them in towards me, his sudden spike of anger propelling him to a stop directly in front of me before I can move away.

I am too afraid to speak, frozen by fear and guilt to the lockers.

"Faith…did you know this?"

I just nod, not trusting myself to speak, unable to look him in the eye.

"So, you're telling me that you knew Mann was dead and you never told me?"

"I did tell you" I whisper, choking. By now, he's standing right in front of me, crowding me, his face closing in on mine. I try to back up, but the lockers form a solid wall behind me, completely cutting off any chance of escape. He keeps coming, leaning in further, arms braced on either side of my head, effectively pinning me in place. He is furious – with Mann for dying, the world for knowing, me for not telling – and it radiates off of him, the heat impales me against the cold metal of the lockers.

"Pardon? You told me? See, I don't think so, Faith, I'm thinking here that I would have remembered that."

"No, I did, I did…I told you…"

"Come off it Faith. It's my eyes that are bad, not my memory. You did not tell me about Mann…"

I close my eyes, bowing my head. "Bosco, I did. You just don't remember. It was uh, right after…right after you were shot..."

"You mean when I was unconscious?" _, I nod, relief, he understands_ "And I'm supposed to have remembered that, that makes it all okay? I was shot in the head and you feel that was an appropriate time to be telling me this"

_No! No, it wasn't like that!_ "No, no Bos! I just had to tell you then.. and..."

"And what Faith? You didn't feel the need to bring it up again in the past 8, 9 months? The hours you spent in the hospital with me, talking, talking, it never occurred to you to mention it again?" His words are like a slap, cold and angry. "I don't understand Faith. You trying to hide it from me?"

"No! Of course not, I...it just..."

"Just what Faith!" _Oh please, don't yell, please don't be mad_

"It's - nothing. I don't know..."

"Doesn't sound like it. Sounds like something's going on here, Faith"

"Really no" _please don't _

"Why didn't you tell me" "I, I…" "What, speak up, I can't hear you"_ taunting, cruel, so cruel, when did he become cruel _"I couldn't..." _please stop I can't breathe _"Couldn't? What do you mean couldn't" _slicing, cutting, his words are like weapons_ "I don't..." "Look at me, Faith" _no, no, I don't want to, please_ "No, I don't know, I don't know" "Don't know what, Faith? Don't know why you didn't tell me. Come on, you gotta know. Look at me" _no, no don't make me look_ "No! I just..." "Just what, Faith? What are you hiding?" _I don't know why…I can't think _"I did it..." "Did what?" _words hissing, snapping like embers from a fire, burning my skin _"I don't..." "Don't what Faith?" _please, you're hurting me_,_ I don't want to see _"I couldn't tell..." "Tell what" _whispering, searing breath, stealing mine_ "I was scared, I didn't want to look at it, admit it" "Admit what" "I'm scared..." _it hurts, please, don't, no_…"Scared of what?" _of what it meant _"because I couldn't live.." _no,no,no,don't make me see, i don't want to know_ "What do you mean?" _without you, oh god it meant nothing, everything..._"Without…I couldn't be...nothing..." _oh my god i didn't know, i swear i didn't know_ "Couldn't be what, Faith?" _fists hitting metal, too loud, please stop_ "I don't know" _i can't, it can't, i don't love _"You don't know?" _sharp, it hurts, stop _"No…" _deaddeadiwasnothing_ "Faith, what don't you know. Tell me" t_oocloseithurtsyou'rehurtingtoocloseyourbody_ "I can't..." _imafraidtoomuchitdidn'tmeananything _"Yes you can, Faith. Tell me, dammit" _raspybreathingmouthnexttomine_ "I died…" _itmeanteverything_ "What?" _hesgonenothingmatters_ "…needed to die, with you..." "Why, Faith?" _youknowyouknowiloveyouiloveyou_ "I love you" _sceamingwhoisscreaming_

his lips crashing onto mine, forcing the breath from my body, shattering my world, hidden, trapped, a shield of denial. It doesn't matter. I can't breathe. I won't survive. There's no gentleness, no love – just anger, raw passion, searing violence. My fingers, clutching, tearing the hair on his scalp, my other hand on the back of his neck, nails, digging, ripping, such soft skin. I'm hurting him, I feel it. It's mutual. Pressed back against the lockers by his body, so tight, it hurts, lock, metal, digging into my back, the buckle of his belt forcing, pressing into the skin of my stomach, shirt riding up. I taste blood, his teeth rip against my tongue. I understand, I understand...how could you want to hurt someone you love? I understand. I want to rip out his hair, bite his lips until the blood flows, flay the skin from both our bodies and wrap us in it, a cocoon, to be born there together forever…

He pulls away suddenly. I have no idea how long we have been fighting our war, we are both gasping for air, trembling from exhaustion, at the limits of our endurance.

"Shit" His momentum keeps him going backwards, freeing my body, and I lose my balance, stumbling against the lockers. He grabs his shirt, and coat and leaves, the door flinging open, rattling the lockers. I collapse to the floor, dying all over again.


	2. FarSighted

far•sight•ed or far-sight•ed (fär s t d)  
adj. Able to see distant objects better than objects at close range

* * *

I am in hell. And it is cold. It starts from the outside, and works its way in. The white hot anger is freezing me, blinds me. Her admission of betrayal drives me forward, keeps me moving. How could she do this to me? How could she have betrayed me like this?

I taste blood in my mouth - _mine or hers? _- and it hits me like a blow and I stagger to my knees. What had we done? What have I done?

_...taunting, pushing, tormenting, why, why, something is just out of my line of sight, pushing, keep pushing, make it clear..._

_"I did it."_

How could I not have seen what was right in front of my face? Mann, dead the whole time. And it was her, she had done it, she had done it to us. And kept it from me, oh God from herself.

_...tell me your secret, tell me, tell me, you're breaking, I can feel, let me in..._

_"...I love you..."_

Her voice echoes in my head, drowning out the noise of the traffic and the city around me. I wander the streets of New York for hours in my flight from the House, not knowing where I am or where I'm going. It is daylight when I finally make it back to my apartment. I fear that I will warm up, now that I am indoors, but the cold stays, deep inside. I am grateful. My fury, my anger at her is cold. It sustains me, denying me the heat of remembering.

I don't feel anything. The hurt, the betrayal, it's all frozen in anger. I remember the heat between us, the kiss, but look away when it threatens to melt the ice barricade I have built. How could she have broke the rules, how could she have given herself away for me?

_"…I love you…"_

* * *

I am in purgatory, floating in a darkness of nothing. I am not hungry, I am not hot or cold, I do not hurt. I am nothing. It has been a lifetime since I lost him, eons since I cared, eternity since it mattered. How did I get here? How did I not know? I love him, I love him.

He knows. I had been so careful, so good. I had followed all the rules. But I couldn't play any more, not when I thought he was gone. I had to break them, had to play by my rules. I thought he was gone. And it didn't matter.

How could I not have known what it meant? How could I not have known that he meant more than my life?

* * *

My fury is gunshot; her betrayal comes from the barrel of a gun. Not because of the intent to kill the recipient of her bullet. My fury is spawned from a pain I've hidden from myself for years. And by pulling the trigger, she showed it to the world, focused their vision.

Her betrayal is in loving me. She's always loved me - I know, the way a baby is born knowing how to breath. And I've always punished her for it, pushed her away, used her, hurt her, then begged her to take me back, because I couldn't live without her, couldn't stand the pain I caused myself. I was too self-absorbed to let her go.

I thought I was keeping her with me, forcing her to stay. She was never trying to leave.

* * *

All my life, my life with Bosco, has been a lie. And no one knew, no one guessed my secret, our secrets. Including him and me. We had been lying to everyone. But now the truth is out.

And I am glad. No more lying. The truth may kill me. But it will set me finally free.

* * *

How dare she? I'm the one in love; always have, from the time we met. Smart, pretty, couldn't shoot for shit, but she learned, thanks to me.

Maybe that's when it started. She needed something from me, and it wasn't sex. I was able to teach her and she appreciated it, respected it.

It was the first time I'd ever been able to do that for a woman.

She never wanted sex from me.

I never knew what to do with that, so I did nothing.

* * *

He will come. He always does. But this time, he knows my secret.

That I gave it all away for him. And he will not forgive me this betrayal.

Because that's not part of our game. He loves me, he always has. And I love him. But we pretend we don't, so he can hurt me, use me, and I can forgive him.

This time, I broke the rules. I showed the world. I showed them all. And with all the eyes upon us, the spell has been broken.

* * *

When I joined the police, it was my job. But at sometime, over the years, it became more, became who I am.. It's not a job, not work, it is part of every cell, every fibre of my body, it is me.

That's how it is with Faith, my partner Faith. She was part of the job. But somewhere along the way, she became part of me, she became me. And I can't tell where one of us starts and the other ends.

There is no end. And that's what is killing me. She was my end, my beginning. I've lost my place, lost my way, she has to guide me back, she is my touchstone to all that is real, the life I live.

* * *

I wait.

On the first day, I realize that, in trying to hurt her, assaulting her, intending to cause her pain, I've ripped open every wound I have. And I'm blind with the pain.

On the second day, I realize that now I know what it's like kissing Faith. And my soul bleeds.

On the third day, I understood it was kinder not knowing, easier to pretend I didn't want to know. And my faith shatters.

Today, I know what I've been denied all these years. The wounds we ripped open burn like fire and light my truth, melt the ice, clear my vision. I will be reborn.

* * *

I am waiting. He will come, maybe right now, at this moment. We are tethered, anchors, and I feel his pull. Why could we not see, this is the way it had to end, they way is has to be?

* * *

I have to see her.

I have to see if this disappears when touched, to see up close, in focus

I have to know.

I have to go to her.

I have to try.

I need her. I hate her. I love her - what's the difference...

* * *

He is here

* * *

I am here 


	3. Second Sight Conclusion

Second-sight:  
Definition: extrasensory perception  
Synonyms: inner sense, insight, lucidity, precognition

I am standing outside the door to her apartment, waiting. I know she is on the other side of the door. I can feel her breathing, sense the acceleration of her heartbeat, as she waits, anticipating. But now that I've arrived, I'm not sure what to do next. She won't let me in. I know this. She feels my anger, and she is afraid of me, of herself. I place my hand on the door, willing her to open it. It's no use. I stare at the door for a long second. It doesn't look very sturdy. One quick kick proves me right. I enter her apartment.

He is standing in the hall. I know he's there. Has been for almost 10 minutes. I stand frozen in place, staring at the door for the same amount of time. I want to run, hide, flee but there's nowhere to go. I am unable to force myself to walk to the door, to let him in. I don't want him in. I don't want to do this, but it is out of my control. My pulse quickens as I feel him come to a decision. My door flings open.

She is standing in the middle of the room. She isn't surprised by my assault on her door, my invasion of her apartment. She doesn't move, accepting of the situation, staring at me. I turn and carefully push a table in the hall against the door, propping it shut, the simple movement helping to calm me from the adrenaline flood brought on when I kicked it in. I start to walk towards her, willing myself to be calm, control my anger, my fear, my passion.

I have to show her.

I take off my coat and throw it to the floor, my sweater follows.

She has to see.

She begins to slowly move, move away from me, her eyes never leaving my face. I stalk her as she goes, my wallet tossed aside, gun freed from its holster, it joins the wallet. I snap my belt from my pants, and tug my t-shirt free from my waist. Lifting it over my head, my eyes break the connection with hers for a split second, and I can sense that she freezes, our connection severed for a moment, she feels a release. I catch her eyes again, and resume my pursuit.

Bosco has kicked the door in to my apartment. I am not surprised by this, have really been waiting for it. I knew he wouldn't leave, that we have reached a point of no return. There is no point in running, in trying to flee. This is our end, the end as it has scripted from the beginning. We are just players, at the mercy of the gods of such wicked games.

He stands, staring at me for long moment, eyes never leaving mine. He begins to walk, tracking me like prey, slowly, purposefully, taking off his coat and throwing it aside without breaking his gaze that is locked on to mine. His sweater joins the coat on the floor. His wallet comes out of his back pocket next, and his off-duty gun out of the shoulder holster. Both are thrown onto the side table that has been knocked askew when he kicked the door in. Involuntarily, I back away - where am I going to go? My heart races.

"Bosco, what..." I don't bother to complete my thought - I know what. His belt is pulled from his waist and he tosses it to the ground. He lifts his arms over his head and pulls his t-shirt over his face. For a moment, our connection breaks, and I am disoriented, off-balance.

**_Run!_**

But it is too late, his eyes seize mine again and he continues tracking me as I move around the room, away from him. He follows me, flinging his t-shirt aside, where it comes to a rest on the back of the kitchen chair. My eyes follow its path to where it lands. He stands before me, naked from the waist up. I skirt my eyes past his scars, over his face and his chest, and stare at his chin, his neck. I can see fading red lines there, scored by my nails, from our battle in the locker room a lifetime ago.

I don't want to see. I can feel his anger, radiating around him, illuminating him.

"Look at me, Faith" his words are low, husky, intense. I've backed myself into the corner of the kitchen, pressed up against the cupboards, the handle on the drawer digging in as I attempt to put more space between us. But he comes closer, closer. I feel a sense of deja vu as his body again presses up against mine, hands this time resting lightly on the counter on either side of me, pining me in place. The weight of his body against mine, the feel of the heat of his skin drains all the strength from me , and I slip downward, held in place by his hips, his hands at my waist.

"Look at me, Faith" She doesn't even blink, won't lift her head to mine.

"Do you see these, Faith - do you see the scars I have? Scars from bullets that were meant for you?" I lift my hand to my face and remove the bandage I always wear. Her eyes flick upward at my movement and drop downward again.

"The plastic surgeons wanted me to have them worked on, erased. I refused. No time, I said. I didn't know why, didn't want to think, to look too closely, why I didn't want them gone. But now I know. They're you. I wear you with me everywhere I go. I can't, won't, cut you out of me like that" Her eyes had dropped further, resting now on my chest, my abdomen where I wear the additional scars of my betrayal. She can't do that, she has to see.

"Please look at me, Faith" She still won't, doesn't respond, so I raise my hand and lift her chin, forcing her eyes to mine.

"Do you see me, Faith?" she nods - _yes, no_ – I can feel her confusion. She is slumped before me - I'm sure if I stepped backwards, and released my bodies hold on hers she would fall to the ground. She is weak, limp, defenseless. What have we done? Her abjection alarms me, humiliates me. I feel my anger abate. She doesn't understand – she thinks I am mad at her for shooting Mann. How can I make her see?

"Faith, don't you understand? When I look in the mirror, I see you, who you are, what we are. I don't want to cover it up anymore. I thought I had to, that I had to hide from everyone, from you, that you wouldn't understand, that you wouldn't want..." I break off, unable to explain with words why I had hidden my scars, and why I now felt I didn't have to.

"Why didn't you tell me Faith? Why didn't you tell me you had killed Mann?"

"I couldn't. I didn't know. Really..."

"What? What didn't you know Faith? Please, let me understand."

"I, I just…I couldn't think, couldn't see what to do. All I knew was you were dead and he had to pay, had to die too. He couldn't just go to jail. That wasn't justice. That wasn't right. That wasn't enough for you. I had to make it even, make it right for you. That was all I could think, all I could see." Her hurried whisper ends in a sob.

"But I don't understand Faith. Why couldn't you tell me? Why was that so wrong, why was what you felt so wrong? I would have...I am, shit, I don't know...overwhelmed, blown away that you did this for me. Why couldn't you tell me? I want what it means, Faith.

Tell me, please. Make me see"

He is relentless, again. His questions are innocent, and he has every right to ask them. But I feel each one like a blow, weakening my armour, my walls. I have to tell him everything. What's the point anymore?

"Why? You want to know why? While I was mourning you, avenging you, crying for you, do you know what didn't cross my mind once, what never even occurred to me until the next day?"

I am breathing hard, fighting for control.

"I never once thought of **_my kids_**. Christ, Bos - my children, my son and my daughter. While I was loving you, I forgot my own children" I start to laugh at the irony, but almost choke on it instead. I breathe.

"When I killed him, when I stood there and emptied my gun into his handcuffed body, when all I could think of was you dead, and having, _needing_ to kill him, I never once thought of my children, what doing this meant for them, that I would likely never see again, who would never want to see me again. They never even crossed my mind. That's why I didn't tell you. How could I be that person? How could I forget my kids?

Bosco, don't you see? I lost myself in losing you. I disappeared, poof, gone. There was no more me, no cop-me, no mom-me, just lost-me. I don't lose control, Bos. You know that. But I lost everything when you were shot. And I couldn't bear afterwards, what that meant. What it could mean. You're everything, you're all of me. And I didn't know.

Fred once told me to ask myself just what it was you meant to me. I never did, until the day after I killed Mann. And the answer was the most terrifying thing I've ever faced. You are more than me, than my life, more than my kids. How can I let that be?"

I am shamed by my confession, horrified that I have let him see everything, told him everything, desparate for him to forgive me. There is no going back.

I am humbled by her words, and the anger begins to build again. Anger that we had fought against this for so long, anger that she doubted herself, believed she had somehow failed.

"But Faith, don't you see? Don't you see? That's what I want, I want to be everything, you're my everything." I had to explain to her, had to make her believe in us.

"Faith, I had a lot of time to think in that hospital. Thinking about being shot, almost dying. They kept wanting me to talk to a shrink, have counseling. Couldn't understand why I wasn't expressing my anger, they thought I was "suppressing my emotions". And one day, you know, not long really after I woke it, I realized. It's because I wasn't angry, really wasn't. Because it didn't matter, because I had saved you. That was all that mattered, and me almost dying? So what? It just didn't matter as much as you being alive. And you were alive. And because you were, we were. I had another chance. That's what kept me going, got me out of that bed. I had to make it all right, with us. To stop the stupid games we've played over the years. Faith, I love you. What else is there?"

"What else is there? Oh Bos - how about nothing? How about the nothingness I could become, if I give in to this, if I surrender to us? I'm afraid of losing myself, of being consumed. I lose myself with you, Bos. What if I disappear altogether" I whisper, afraid to say the words out loud, that it make them real, might make them come true.

I had never in my life not known exactly who I was, exactly where I was. But when I lost him, it all disappeared. I was fury, I was the red-hot fire of vengance, my corporeal being blown away as Mann collapsed on that roof-top. How could I risk that again, how could I risk losing myself, losing us together? What if we burned ourselves in the fire that I knew raged between us, burned ourselves too badly, burned away what we had, who we were? I could stand never feeling Bosco's mouth on mine again, I could stand never knowing what it felt like on the rest of my body, never experiencing what it meant to hold him to me, in me...but I couldn't survive losing him, destroying him. What if we burn too hot, and have to flee from the flames?

What if I never feel this again?

"Faith, please, I have to know. We don't have to be alone" I sense her hesitation, the beginning of her acceptance.

I push, physcially, emotionally. I can't lose her now, again. We are so close, she is so close As hard as I had fought in the hospital, to heal, it was nothing compared to this, the fight for her. I am shaking from the effort of trying to make her see, make her understand, make it real for her as it is for me.

I need her heat, the fire that drives her, I need to taste her, consume her, save her.

I want him to be right, oh God, please, I want this so much, I'm so scared. He moves in closer to me, I can feel the blood in his veins, sense the quickening of his heart, echoing mine. His breath warms me, the fire begins.

"Please, Faith, let me kiss you, please, I have to see...if it was real. It's killing me, I need to know, need to see, to feel. You. Please. Let me in let me touch you, love you please, please" His mouth hovers over mine, his plea a litany of breath into mine.

"God, oh my God, Faith are you real? I have to have you, love you, Let this be real, just once, please, let me let me let me..."

Do I speak, say yes? I can't tell, we are breathing as one, he feels it from my soul. He kisses me, and I am lost. He touches me and I am found. He moves in me and I am reborn.

We are gone, forever. We have entered the fire and will be consumed, devoured whole. But I was wrong to be afraid of the fire. Like the phoenix, the fire will cleanse us, purify us and from the ashes of our past, the flames will witness our rebirth, we will rise, transformed, fused, healed.

We will live forever, love forever, finally whole in each other.

_"Phoenix: A mythical bird that never dies, the phoneix...represents our capacity for vision. It represents the union of ying and yang"_


End file.
